You don't know Jack
by Thot84
Summary: After 'As I Lay Dying', Stefan goes down a path of his past once more. Who will be affected in the wake of destruction and will Damon, Elena and Co. rescue him before it is too late? Take on 3rd season; multiple point of views; eventually love triangle


**Summary:** After the developments in 'As I Lay Dying', Stefan is succumbing to his baser nature and follows a path of his past. What did Stefan do to catch the attention of Klaus in the first place? Who will be affected in the wake of destruction and will Damon, Elena and Co. rescue the younger brother before it is too late? - Take on the 3rd season; multiple point of views with much focus on Stefan position

**Disclaimer**: TVD isn't mine, contrary to my wishes; all made for fun, not for profit

**Genre:** action, adventure, angst, dark, drama, mystery, some romance – the normal TVD mix

**Rating:** T – I know the theme of the story would normally imply something higher, but I like to stick to the rating of the series itself; therefore, the displays are no more explicit than on screen.

**Archive:** Please ask, but it has more to do with my wish to know, where my stuff ends up than seriously considering if I want to spread it at all.

**Language:** I tried to stick to the British spelling as much as possible; please don't be too hard on a non-native speaker; if you find errors then they are all mine

**Acknowledgement:** Above all, a huge thank you to silverfoxpunk, who inspired me to do a story for myself and was so helpful with making beta on this chapter. Therefore, this story is for you!

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><p><strong>You don't know...Jack<strong>

Chapter One: "A New Beginning"

Her steps were lighter than her thoughts as Vivian Dowell walked beside the work stations of her colleagues, which were already brightly illuminated by the midday sun on the first day of September.

_At least somebody is up as long as me_, but she reprimanded herself just a few seconds later for the shirty thought. It was probably her frustration talking here, but who wouldn't be on edge after looking at the poor gal this morning, who's file she was carrying in her right hand; a yet to be identified woman working the oldest profession of the world who had been killed with a knife last night – obviously done by a gang, or a member of one, judging by the weapon of choice and the brutality of the crime. Her throat was cut open, three gashes in her abdomen had lain bare her guts and the circumstances of the investigation were no less cheerful: Although it happened openly on a street, none of the neighbours had seen a thing until the body was found by a passer-by. There were no open signs of struggle on the victim, which supported the theory that the scumbag was probably already known to her. How much she hated these arrogant jack-asses, who all thought they could treat women like shit until they eventually blew a fuse and killed them out of rage. It simply happened too often.

_Perhaps the guys from forensics will find something to nail the bastard._

Vivian turned her attention once more to the goal at hand, which was to walk down the hallway to her office, her small haven of peace with the most important tool for her investigations: her coffee machine. People say that you can't run on the dark fuel exclusively, but sometimes Vivian was just in the mood to prove them wrong. Hell, she probably already had done it during a few sessions at her desk without any solid food for days, but this wouldn't be the case today.

Finally arriving at her destination, the Chief Inspector pushed down the handle of her office door and instantly knew that something was out of place. That meant more than the artfully constructed chaos she normally maintained in the office with her used coffee mugs and piles of files. Everybody knew better than to disturb her hideaway except one, who wilfully ignored this unspoken rule, and was sat right in that moment in her own chair in the middle of the room, sipping her coffee out of one of her mugs, with his feet planted casually on her desk - or to be more precise, the only corner with no files placed on it.

"Sweet cousin of mine, don't frown so much," Marcus beamed at her. "I have your coffee ready and one of my mega sandwiches just the way you like it."

It always went this way when her cousin arrived at her work place before she did: he intruded on her sanctuary and then bribed himself out of his impending exile by offering coffee and a meal; in most cases a home-made sandwich with ham, cheese, tomatoes, slices of lettuce and his delicious, handmade mayonnaise... How somebody with such a taste in cooking could have such a fit figure was absolutely lost on her.

_It must have something to do with the words 'lucky', 'bastard' and 'life is unfair'._

Still, there are some things you simply didn't do, if you wanted to stay on good terms with Vivian Dowell. But she knew it would be useless to argue with Marcus about it. It always had been useless. Every single time.

Therefore, she put down her latest case file and resigned herself to pick up the coffee, the sandwich and the company of Marcus, because she already knew that in a few minutes her anger about his intrusion would pass, become an atmosphere of anticipation and then finally switch to familiar banter. This person was her closest social contact and – she sometimes admitted to herself – the most lucky coincidence in her career at Metropolitan Police Service, London, so far. He had started to work at "New Scotland Yard" without Vivian knowing at first, since Marcus wanted to make sure that he got the job on his own. They were in quite different sections of the Yard, but she could have put in a good word for him nonetheless. She wasn't sure if she would have done it, given the fact that she wasn't too much into the family bonding and helping stuff. But in the last three years she had to acknowledge how much his support and open ear had rescued her from insanity and mental break downs, or her attempts to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records in the category "Longest Survival by Coffee Alone".

Naturally, she would never admit any of it to Marcus. He would be even more insufferable, if that was possible.

Signalling him to vacate her seat with a motion of her already cup-filled hand, he intentionally – she was sure of it – misunderstood her will and rolled away, including the chair, from the place in front of the computer, at least putting his feet down before setting himself in motion. Unable to suppress a sigh, she placed her snack down, took the second chair in the corner and positioned herself before her computer. Vivian started to multitask; drinking coffee, eating her sandwich and tapping the data of her latest case into the data bank while throwing some glances to Marcus, who had put his attention to some of the files lying in front of him on his area of the table.

And here came the serve –

"You are still printing out the files even though they are all digitized now?" Marcus didn't bother to look up while asking the question.

Vivian could have pointed out her unease in looking at a screen for hours, or her desire to physically grab the content with both hands or just the value of putting the sheets down on the floor and constructing her own personal mind maps, but he already knew that. She always knew it when he started their banter. The question had something of a ritualistic gesture about it, signalling the beginning of their match of words, like the bow of an opponent before raising the blade for the duel. She could grasp his fixation on the topic to some extent as an example of professional interest, since his work as archivist of the Yard entailed for the most part the organization and processing of information, files and evidence. Nevertheless, she guessed the bigger part lay in the fact that he could tease her.

Being half through with inserting the data into the form on the computer screen, Vivian dared another glance in Marcus' direction and was rewarded with an open smile and another question.

"How's the love-life?"

She should be used to the audacity of his question by now, given she was an easy target for teasing, being practically married to her job. The fact that the last two dates she had been on were disastrous, having only been on them in the first place to prove herself she could still do it, wasn't helping either. But she also thought that his own life could equally be placed under the microscope on this topic.

In a teasing tone she retorted, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was talking to an expert. I mean, someone who has had a relationship which has lasted longer than six weeks. Oh that's right... you haven't." Pleased with herself to have added her two cents on the subject, she stood up from her place and made her way for another round of the elixir of her beloved coffee machine. She had named the machine 'Bethy', she was constructed in the Netherlands and they had made it through Vivian's trainee years, the Miller Case and lately her boss' divorce with grace and integrity. The greatest birthday present her parents had ever given her was a whole set of spare parts for Bethy's model to ensure her companionship for as long as possible.

"Well, what can I say," Marcus pulled Vivian out of her reminiscent mood, as she leaned against the table with Bethy on it. "If after a couple of weeks you know its just for the sex, what's the point? You have to realize it's not gonna go anywhere." After this avowal on life he used the opportunity to leisurely retrieve Vivian's seat at the middle of the desk for the second time.

"Nobody deserves to be someone's part time lover, if you're looking for something else." Marcus sighed in a matter-of-fact way and took his mind off the topic at hand by scanning over his cousin's computer screen.

On some level Vivian was happy that Marcus had this kind of attitude. Clear announcements prevented heartache and disappointment. At least, if the opposite side was willing to accept it anyway. She still recalled "the Olivia episode", when one of the girls who thought she was cool with that philosophy, decided that she didn't want to concede to Marcus' view after all. Oh bugger, Vivian didn't want to go down _that_ road again, so she turned her mind on the man with the fixation on her seat right in front of her. With his charm and looks – 26 years old, 6'1" tall, sand-blonde hair, grey eyes, athletic figure and a 10,000 watt smile – he could pull off quite some bullshit with women before facing any repercussions, but he hadn't turned out this way. _Fortunately_, Vivian added in her mind every time she thought about it.

_Is it a bad notion to profile the people around yourself and especially Marcus, so often?_

At least, she was as critical about herself than with Marcus. Self-analysis seemed to become her other favourite pastime. She always believed that it was impossible to find a strength without picking out the flaws, and as a plus, analysing her cousin did tend to bring up good material to use against him when she was in the mood.

"And you are sure it has nothing to do with your moments of geekiness?"

Sometimes Marcus would take off in a discussion about a random, historically connected topic and ramble on about it for a minute or two. Her cousin always spoke with vigour and shared some interesting facts, but in most cases it left the discussion at an dead end because nobody else had anything to add. His latest episode was when they had ordered an Indian meal and he started a polemic on how much money the East India Company had made by importing and propagandising Indian cuisine in the UK. Vivian's response had been to say if he'd like, she put their meal in the fridge and he could show it in his next seminar in Cambridge.

Oh, how she loved it to tease this always plain speaking man.

"My _'moments of geekiness'_?" Marcus asked with mock hurt and struggled with a little laughter when he added, "And what are you calling the thing you are doing right now?"

She inserted a sugar lump into her coffee and spun the spoon around, trying to understand what her cousin was referring to in the meantime. What was the piece of the puzzle she was missing? He didn't elaborate immediately, but turned the monitor of her computer in her direction, where she was still leaning against the small table. Obviously the data on her screen _was_ the missing piece, but even with this insight she didn't see the connection.

"Vivian," he started teasingly – at least he had stopped calling her 'Viv' like he had been a few years ago. "A woman, a prostitute in her early forties, killed with a blade; her throat cut through; the abdomen sliced open with two to three stabs and her guts spilled out with no signs of struggle..."

Marcus had finished calling up the facts she had typed into the Scotland Yard database, in order to run a trace on other cases in the archives that matched the same parameters. Leaning back in the chair and stretching out his arms, he put on an amused expression and taunted her with the words, "You only need to add that she was killed on the first of September, around three o'clock in the morning in Buck's Row, Whitechapel and last but not least there were no witnesses."

Vivian's mind was racing to understand how Marcus knew all the other facts, which she hadn't added into the search parameter. She put both her hands on her mug in order to do something with them, and tried to find a way to express another point of confusion on her mind. "It wasn't Buck's Row, it was Durward Street. I've never heard of a Buck's Row in Whitechapel."

For the first time Marcus' face showed the same irritation the way Vivian's had been doing for a few moments already. In a low voice he declared, "That's because Buck's Row was renamed to Durward Street." Taking off his gaze of his cousin, he locked his gaze on the monitor which was still turned in Vivian's direction, as if the answer was printed on the reverse of the device.

Vivian found the resolve she needed to abandon the support of the coffee table and stand solidly on both feet. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Still unsure how to find the words which would shed some light on the topic, Marcus made do with answering in plain words, "I'm talking about the murder of Mary Ann Nichols, the first victim of Jack the Ripper."

Vivian's mind was unable to process the implication of Marcus' statement and was disabled from making a second attempt when feeling a sudden pain in her left hand. Her right hand had lessened its grip on the coffee mug, causing it to pour scalding hot coffee on her left fingers. Exclaiming a short scream, Vivian jerked the offended hand away from the source of pain and shook most of the remaining liquid off her digits. Marcus was by her side in a second and tried to enquire about her status by repeating her name several times, his voice filled with concern. His only accomplishment was to take the coffee mug out of Vivian's hand into his and put it down on Bethy's table.

Taking a few seconds to acknowledge the situation, Vivian's focus was once more on the matter that preoccupied her before the dark liquid had burned her hand. She raised her head to meet her cousin's eyes, who had stopped vocally asking about her well-being, and used her still itching hand to pull at the hem of his shirt. The two of them covered the distance to Vivian's desk with the monitor's screen directed towards them. Unable to express the outrageous theory bubbling in her head, she positioned Marcus in front of the screen in order to give him a good view and pointed with her left index finger on the date in the form which held the information on the recently murdered woman: 1st September, 2010.

After two seconds, recognition dawned on Marcus' face and he immediately searched the eyes of his cousin with the unasked question: Was he seeing things? From the look on Vivian's face, she was entertaining the same idea for herself, until both of them shared a strained look of acknowledgement. Vivian might have ponder on her disappointment in not being delusional, but she was already too focused on the meaning of this discovery to even notice Marcus' rising to his full height after the grip on his shirt was gone.

At this moment, it appeared that even Mister Plain and Spoken was lost for words.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

- By now everyone should have a guess what Stefan's past entails – the title of the story is very carefully chosen with all its different meanings...

- This is my first story ever. I have never written anything before this in any language (at least nothing literary) and this is a work in progress. Therefore, reviews, suggestions and critics are very welcome and always a moral boost to write faster.

- Concerning the time line (the story plays in the summer/fall of 2010 in London): Candice Accola - actress who plays Caroline Forbes - said in an interview on Starry Constellation Magazine 5/2011 _"...but what I find so funny is we've almost forgot that not a lot of time has passed in Mystic Falls. From season one to season two it was a continuation and a lot of our episodes are the next morning or are a continuation. So what feels like two years has actually been like six months to eight months in Mystic Falls."_ That puts the episode 'As I Lay Dying' around March to May 2010.

Link: http : / / starrymag. com/content. asp ?ID=5900&CATEGORY=Interviews&PAGE=1


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